Wager
by Toggin
Summary: (Chicago) The hazards of betting in prison. F/F
1. chapter 1

Disclaimer-- The movie, musical, and characters belong to their respective powers that be. I just borrow them.

A/N-- This began as an experiment of sorts to see if it was possibly to write a _Chicago _slash fic in which nobody has graphic sex with Roxie. She does feature, briefly and indirectly, but the main pairing in this case is between Liz (or "pop," if you prefer the Cell Block Tango method of identification) and the hunyak ("uh-uh"). I'd like to think it's not as odd as it sounds, but I'll leave that for the readers to judge. 

*

For newcomers, Mama wasn't too difficult to get along with, provided you went about it right. Money always talked, but if you came in without much to trade you had to know how to pique her interest--that was the only tough part. If you missed your mark, the most you'd get from the wardress was a knowing laugh and a pat on the head. If you knew which cards to play, though, you mostly had it okay. To start, anyway. 

Liz had wised up to these things right from the start. She wasn't all that pretty, but she'd always believed she could talk her way in and out of anything. So far, there had never any reason for her to doubt it, and the jail provided no exceptions. 

And that was how it started. Like most of the girls, she'd slip Mama a few bucks for cigs or stockings, but it was only Liz who was taken back to the office to work out the finer points of their negotiations. The deal wasn't half-bad; she got a few phone calls out of it, buying another juror for the appeal. If things kept up, she was sure she could get a little more before running out of luck or money. She'd always been good at talking.

But when she started getting nothing more than a slap on the thigh along with her cigarettes, the actions spoke louder than anything. Tough as nails with a tongue like a whip, and there wasn't a damn thing she could say when Velma Kelly, smug as a Persian cat, went sauntering into Mama's office.

It wasn't unexpected. Velma stirred things up wherever she went, any newspaper could attest to that. Her behavior hadn't faltered for a second, even when she first came to murderer's row. Annie was the one who had announced it. 

"Hey," she'd said, traipsing into the dining hall after an interview, tossing her halo of hair and smirking unctuously. "Guess who I saw coming in?" She'd paused for emphasis until even the hunyak, who didn't understand a word, was leaning forward in anticipation. "_Velma fucking Kelly_." 

Liz had gone on her guard right away, not for an instant allowing herself to be starstruck or intimidated. The famous Velma Kelly be damned, all that mattered was keeping the new murderess from somehow undermining her. She'd seen it happen too many times to believe such a thing might be avoided.

And she was right. In spite of her watchfulness, it happened anyway. After a week of slaps and cigs and biting back curses, there was no denying matters. 

She'd spent the last several evenings sneering through the bars of her cell, simultaneously listening and trying not to listen as the office doors opened and closed before Velma was let back into her own cell for the night. Thankfully, Liz was usually asleep by then. 

The one night she was still awake had proven the clincher. Nothing all that special was happening, just Mama putting the bitch into her cell. The two of them were talking, voices too low for any words to be distinguished. Liz was pretty sure she wouldn't have minded it so much if they hadn't _laughed_ together about something. It was the last straw, not that there'd been that many straws to begin with, and the memory of that velvety laughter kept Liz awake a good two more hours. She eventually fell asleep with her jaw clenched and her hands balled into fists. 

She caught Velma by the mirrors the next morning, propping one long leg up on a sink as she tugged up a stocking. 

Liz marched over, her frown deepening when Velma's smooth black eyes didn't so much as flicker in her direction. "Mama'll get bored with you," she burst out, not caring how childish she sounded. "Just wait. It always happens. To everyone." 

Velma arched an eyebrow and barely glanced at the smaller women before saying dismissively, "I'm not like everyone."  

"You ain't?," Liz snorted derisively, annoyed at the her target's indifference. "What, you think she'll keep you on forever? Maybe you'll go on a little longer, being the _famous _Velma Kelly, but that's all." 

Velma looked amused. "Yeah? Well, don't think that means she'll want you back." She assumed an expression of mock seriousness. "You'd have better luck with the hunyak."

"Least I'm more than the fuck of the week. Anything'll last longer than you will." 

The dancer finished with her stockings and turned from the sink with a defiant pivot that sent the ugly gray prison dress flaring around her knees. "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot you know so much more about it than me."

"Yeah, actually, I do," snapped Liz. "And you know what? You can't keep up this sort of favor forever."

"Shut your goddamn mouth."

Liz laughed raucously and calmly began fixing her hair. "Got you worried, haven't I?"

There was a long, deliberate silence, and then Velma's face was at her shoulder. "Worried? Oh, no."

Liz sniffed and pointedly avoided her gaze in the mirror. 

"So," Velma purred. "Do you _really_ think you've got a better chance with the hunyak than I've got with Mama?"

Involuntarily, Liz's lip curled. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Velma's smile widen. 

"I don't think you do," Velma continued, voice lowered complacently. "Not that it's any surprise. Everyone on the row says you're all talk."

Liz stifled another sneer and contemplated spearing a hairpin through one of those gleaming eyes.

"So does Mama."

Correction. _This_ was the last straw. "Bitch."

"Not me, sweetie."

"You don't think I was serious?" She spun around and practically spat the words in her opponent's face. "C'mon, then, name the stakes."

Liz wasn't sure, but she thought she saw Velma's eyes widen slightly before the other woman assumed a bored expression. "You don't have the money to make it interesting."

"How's this, then? You do my laundry for free until one of us gets out. _And_," she added, when Velma snickered, "you pay for my cigarettes. Oh, and magazines, too. I go through 'em like mad, and I can't keep spending like that if I want to get off."

Velma tossed her an infuriating little smile. "­You're on. Just keep in mind I like _Cosmopolitan_ and my kimonos need to be hand washed."


	2. chapter 2

In the next few days, Liz began to wonder just how deep of a hole she had dug herself into. It was beyond irritating. She had virtually no plan of action, not that she would ever admit it. To make matters worse, it seemed that everywhere she went Velma was there, lazily smiling and asking with false solicitousness if Liz had had any luck yet.

So far, she hadn't. She had taken to waving at the hunyak when they passed each other in the corridors, a gesture the other woman always responded to in kind, albeit not without giving Liz a confused look. Velma happened to witness such an exchange one afternoon and was merciless about it afterward. Ironically, it was her teasing that gave Liz an idea.

"I can tell you've really made progress," Velma said once, not bothering to hide the triumph in her voice. "Hey, maybe you'd have a chance if you paid her—she'll do anything for a few extra bucks, but you might get to find out where she draws the line."   

And it occurred to Liz that Velma actually had a point. 

"She wants a better lawyer," June, who always seemed to know these things, had proclaimed when the Hungarian inmate had returned crying the day before. "But she can only afford so much, see, and no one's willin' to let her have anything without payin' first. She's got Smitherson now and everyone knows what a dead fish he is. Hell, I'd cry too." 

When she wasn't clutching her rosary and murmuring words nobody understood, the hunyak was doing anything she could that might gain her a little more money to put towards a new attorney. Most of the time, it involved laundry. Everyone hated it and, if they could, would willingly pay her to do it for them. So when Liz saw her going into laundry room, she put part one of her rather shaky strategy into play. 

The first order of business was to make sure the two of them would have the room to themselves, something Liz neatly arranged by practically ambushing Annie, who was heading the same way, and offering to do the work for her. The blonde was suspicious at first, but it wasn't long before Liz convinced her it would be idiotic to pass up the offer, and she handed over her basket.

The second was to somehow strike up a conversation. That was the toughest part; the hunyak never really _talked_ to anyone, there was no point. As the two of them worked side by side in the sweltering room, Liz debated over whether or not to speak up. If she did, there was no way of knowing how it would go over; the last thing she needed was to scare the girl away. But if not, she would end up doing Annie's laundry for no reason. To say nothing of Velma. The vaudevillian's smirking visage flashed through Liz's mind, making her grimace. Not a chance she was giving up now, not when she actually had a plan. Sort of, anyway. At that, Liz threw caution to the winds and did what she did best. 

"So," she began, as if continuing an interrupted chat, "who'd you kill to get in here? Me, I offed my husband…" She played out the entire event with exaggerated motions and sound effects as the Hungarian prisoner looked on through downcast eyes. Hardly a stellar response, but hey, she hadn't turned away.  

"And you?" she asked again when she was done, pointing and tilting her head.

"Not guilty."

Good, so at least the hunyak could more or less understand her. Liz tamped down the satisfaction she felt. "Go on," she signaled

The gesture provoked a rapid stream of Hungarian and hand motions, none of which Liz could make head or tail of. She shook her head and the hunyak tried again to explain, getting more and more frustrated as she went along. "_Not guilty_," she finally repeated vehemently, striking the wall with the flat of her hand and looking close to tears. 

In a moment of uncharacteristic sympathy, Liz wondered what kind of hell the other woman was going through. Jail was tough enough when you spoke English, but having to go through everything and not have anyone understand a word you said... And if the girl really _was _innocent…

The hunyak had one hand pressed to her face and was starting to turn back to her pile of linens. "Hey," Liz said suddenly. "It's okay, I get it." Taking a step forward, she put an arm around the hunyak's waist. "Not guilty."

When the Hungarian didn't pull away, Liz moved a little closer and put her other arm around her. For a moment, nothing happened, and Liz stood there in the overpowering heat wondering if she'd just blown everything. Then there was a hand on her back and a head on her shoulder and any compassion Liz felt was immediately overpowered by a surge of triumph. Finally getting somewhere.

After that, they fell into the habit of working together. It was surprisingly easy to arrange it, but then, the hunyak's company wasn't exactly sought after. If nothing else, Liz was getting a crash course in Hungarian out of it, or at least in sign language—although if things went right, she impatiently hoped, that wouldn't be all that came out of it. But damned if she knew what to do next. It was difficult; she wasn't used to not having speech as an advantage. 

She must have been doing something right. The next sign of progress came a couple days later when Liz was sweeping the corridor and the other woman came over to help. "Hey, hunyak," she said, and for some reason her tongue faltered over the words. Liz was pretty sure the other woman knew everyone called her by a sort of nickname but had no idea what it meant. Just as well, really. "Hunyak?" she repeated, shrugging inquisitively.

The woman understood. "Katalin," she said with a small smile, pushing back a lock of Liz's hair that had fallen free of its pins.

Liz practically jumped out of her skin at the other prisoner's touch. "Got it. Katalin." 

As the other woman went to fetch a broom, Liz absentmindedly readjusted her hair, all the while studying Katalin in the mirror. She actually wasn't bad too look at, with wavy amber-colored hair that, like everyone's but Velma's, had acquired the dingy tones that came with prison life. Her face was melancholy, though that might also have come from prison. Still, it suited her, made her look a tragic figure in a play, which Liz figured was only fitting, both in and out of jail. Katalin had been a ballet dancer; Liz had gleaned that much from their sort-of conversations.

She had also gleaned, in a chat punctuated with "not guilty"s, that the girl was scared out of her wits about upcoming appeal. The topic came up again as they swept when Katalin, looking absolutely terrified, mimed tying a rope around her neck.

Liz hesitated before replying. The next step had to be executed carefully. If Velma caught her at it, she'd never live it down. Checking to make sure the dancer wasn't skulking around waiting to pounce, Liz pulled a few dollars out of her pocket. "Smitherson," she said, empathetically making a face. Then, holding out the bills: "Flynn?" 

The Hungarian woman's eyes widened. "Flynn?" she repeated, pointing to the money and then to herself. If only by association, she knew what the name meant. She'd heard it mentioned in tones of awe and excitement, and had heard it called out in adoration when it's bearer came by the row to see a client. He was the one who had gotten Nancy off a few weeks ago, and everyone seemed positive he would get Velma off too. Katalin could only dream what it would be like having him, or anyone near as competent, on her case.

Nodding, Liz handed it to her. ­It wasn't all that much money, the gesture itself was probably more significant, but every little bit helped. It was enough to make the hunyak to throw her arms around Liz, which was all that mattered. Step three was a success. Katalin gratefully kissed her on the cheek and Liz revised that thought. More than a success. So what if it was a European custom, a kiss was a kiss.

Once released, Liz reached into her pocket again. Might as well go for broke, in a manner of speaking. 

She handed a few more dollars to the awestruck woman and, when Katalin moved towards her again, took action. Lanky arms wrapped around the Hungarian, one finger tracing along the cords of her neck, ballerina-sinewy. Carefully but deliberately Liz backed her against the sink, knocking abandoned pins off the edge. She caught a glimpse of Katalin's face before kissing her and thought vaguely that she'd never seen anyone more mystified. But that thought and all others promptly evaporated when, for one incandescent moment, Katalin responded, tongue flickering out to meet the other's like a glimmer of light, one hand knotting in Liz's hair. Then two strong arms were shoving her away, two staccato syllables were tearing through the air.

"Uh-uh!"

Catching her balance, Liz plunged a hand into her pocket, but Katalin furiously shook her head. "Uh-uh!"

"Oh, Jesus, look, I know you're not a whore. Okay?" She held up the money again and was surprised to see Katalin looking more hurt than angered.  "I'm just giving it to you as a friend, get it? _Friend_."

The other woman took a step forward, plucked the money from Liz's hand and glowered for a second, something Liz hadn't expected of her. And whatever she expected next, it definitely wasn't for Katalin to stuff the money back into Liz's pocket and pull her close for another kiss. 

Not that she was about to complain or anything, a sentiment she demonstrated by lightly applying teeth to that delicate neck. Then everything swirled together in a kaleidoscope consisting of fervently whispered words that had neither beginning nor end, hairpins falling from Liz's lank hair like rain, fingers gathering handfuls of drab cloth, and dozens of other things that registered in vivid flashes of fire. Somewhere on the bridge between pleasure and disbelief one of them lifted a hand to work at the buttons running down the front of the other's dress, and from there it was impossible to distinguish anything other than the fire itself.

Aside from a mild interruption that occurred when Mona came in to wash her hands, Liz felt things went rather well.

They emerged as the others were lining up for dinner. Velma acknowledged Liz with a nod. "You saving up for my magazines?" she asked. "How ya doing, hunyak?" she added, noticing the other inmate.

Liz scowled and didn't even bother responding to the first remark. "Hey. You fucking call her Katalin or don't call her anything." And she put an arm around the Hungarian, who demurely reciprocated.

The warden shot her a reproving look for that, but the expression on Velma's face was more than worth it.

That night, when Mama came by with Velma, Liz beckoned the wardress aside and tugged a couple bills out of her garter. "How about you let Katalin stay in with me for a little while?" she asked, just loud enough for Velma to hear.

The look Mama gave her was inscrutable, but less than an hour later the hunyak was let in.

Not long afterward Velma took to alternately sulking and storming around, and Liz had a feeling she knew why. A little doll of a murderess had been brought in and, according to Mona, Mama had seemed pretty taken with her. 

"Cigarettes? Just cigarettes? Dammit, Mama, that's _it_?" Velma was shrieking down the hall. 

Liz went to gather her laundry, wearing a smirk that quickly faded from her face when Katalin crossed her path. 

"Hey," she muttered, brushing past. Katalin reached to take her arm; Liz yanked it away.

The Hungarian followed her for a few yards before Liz spun in irritation. Mistaking the motion, Katalin essayed to kiss her cheek and started in surprise when Liz moved aside.

She began gibbering in bewilderment, reaching again for the other prisoner's arm. Liz turned and snapped at the other woman's perplexed face. "Just shove it. You know I can't understand a damn thing you say. Here." She slapped a bill into Katalin's beseeching hand. "For your lawyer fund."

As the serpentine words spilling from Katalin's mouth increased in speed and agitation, Liz turned back around. "See ya, hunyak," she said over her shoulder, and strode off towards Velma to gloat.


End file.
